


For Science

by TheFierceBeast



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Body Image, Crack, Dirty Talk, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Gordlock - Freeform, Gotham is for lovers, Guilt Kink, Harvey Bullock talks dirty, How Do I Tag This, Jim Gordon has not got game, Large Cock, M/M, Non-Consensual Body Modification, PWP, Penis Measuring, Penis Size, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Prompt Fic, Shame kink, Size Kink, Strange's experiments, There's A Tag For That, Urges, awkward Jim Gordon, big dick, hung like a racehorse, monster dong, size queen Harvey Bullock, you're an animal Bullock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-04-12 07:26:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19127353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFierceBeast/pseuds/TheFierceBeast
Summary: For a Tumblr prompt: "Turns out that Strange's "physical improvements" don't just include superior strength and resilience but also a monster package. Jim is absolutely mortified and ashamed of his body until one -- or more! -- of Gotham's fine gentlemen  introduce(s) him to the benefits of his new equipment."This is just 5.5K of oven-baked porn with a side-dish of fluff. Sorry, not sorry.





	For Science

**Author's Note:**

> Additional content warnings: Jim being initially ambivalent and stressed about changes that happened to his body due to side effects of a Hugo Strange experiment. Harvey making a joke about having had sex in high school.

"So, what you're telling me is,” Harvey says, his eyebrows arched exactly as high as Jim had feared they’d be. “Strange does his freaky-deaky experiments on anyone else and they end up half-llama or something, but _you_ get super strength and a giant dong and you're _unhappy_ about it? Do you know how many guys would sell their grandmothers to be in your situation right now?" He blinks, looking for all the world almost _cross_ , and something inside Jim kicks back angrily in return, because how dare he assume how this feels?

  
"That's not the point. It's not what... _modifications_... were made. It's that they were made at all. I feel..." _Violated_. Jim grits his teeth, frowns up at Harvey who for all of Jim’s newfound ‘enhancements’ still has, annoyingly, a good few inches on him in height. "I just don't feel like myself anymore. The strength, the stamina, that's one thing. But I've changed. It's _changed_ me, _he_ changed me. I have these... _urges_."

OK, that slipped out. Jim eyes Harvey, miserably. It was a mistake to tell him, especially here, in Harvey’s apartment, rather than on neutral ground or Jim’s own territory. And since when did he start thinking of his apartment as ‘territory’ anyway?   
  
"OK..." Harvey’s voice softens when he says that, though, and Jim relents. It’s not Harvey’s fault, however much Jim wants to lash out at _someone_. It shouldn’t be Harvey. Not again. Jim feels a prickle of guilt, lets his shoulders sag as he sinks onto the couch and buries his face in his hands.  
  
"And this… _thing_. I feel like a freak. I feel like one of those poor bastards I used to hunt down for pay." The couch dips as Harvey sits next to him. The familiar weight of a hand descends on his shoulder.  
  
"Brother, you're no freak. Not ever.” He sounds so sympathetic, so understanding, that Jim doesn’t know if he wants to punch him or kiss him. “It can't be that bad- I mean, how big we talkin' here? Like, Tex Steele big or Joey 'the Horse' Delgado big?"  
  
Jim raises his head and peers through his fingers. " _What_?"  
  
"Don't tell me you've never watched- never mind.” Harvey shakes his head with a world-weary sigh. “Just, y’know... How many inches?"  
  
Jim can feel his eyes widen. And that’s not all he can feel. It’s just _there_ : he’s hyper aware of it always now, the thick, warm weight, unfamiliar between his thighs, spoiling the line of his suits. Bulky and unwieldy and alien and embarrassing. Making him _want_ things…"I don't know! It's not as if I've measured the thing!"  
  
"You're hopeless, you know that?” The hand on his shoulder squeezes, gently: the monster between Jim’s legs makes itself known with a lazy throb. “Ah, c'mon, don't give me that look. This is really getting to you isn’t it?"  
  
He looks away again. If only Harvey knew. Thank heaven he doesn’t. "Yeah."  
  
"How's Lee taking it?"  
  
Jim bites his lip, closes his eyes. Harvey, as ever, with the unfortunate wording. He tries not to sound too pissy when he answers. "She _isn't_ taking it.” All she took was the set of spare keys he’d had to her apartment, and her toothbrush. Strange, how they all made it through Gotham’s own little apocalypse, but the aftermath of it is still controlling Jim’s life. “We're not together anymore."  
  
To his credit, Harvey at least looks genuinely compassionate. "Oh buddy, I'm sorry."  
  
"Yeah, well. It’s been a few weeks now. And we were on the rocks a long time before… this. It was a mistake to keep trying.” He offers Harvey a rueful smile. “Re-treading old ground really doesn't work, does it?"  
  
"I know how much she means to you, man." The hand on his shoulder has migrated to the back of his neck. Squeezes again, strong and reassuring. His thumb strays, stroking the side of Jim’s throat, and Jim’s voice comes out hoarse for all of the wrong reasons as he mentally curses his goddamn _curse_.   
  
"Thanks, Harv. Maybe it was time to move on, though. I couldn't give her what she wanted. And she certainly couldn't cope with... this."  
  
Harvey nods. Jim sees it, the way his gaze flits, down to Jim’s lap. _Lingers_ there. He licks his lips, and Jim’s guts give a lazy roll. "What did the hospital say?"  
  
"That I'm fine. No signs of detrimental abnormalities. In perfect health - _unusually robust_ health, to quote them."  
  
"Then where's the harm?” Harvey tilts his head, flashes him an appealing look, hands spread. “You got off lightly, where Strange is concerned. It ain't ideal, but take it as a win?"  
  
It’s true. Jim knows, logically, in his head, that it could have been much, much worse. That he could have so easily ended up with a chip in his brain at the least. But his heart just refuses to agree. "A win? To be alone forever?"  
  
"You really have no idea how many people are into a big talent, do you?"  
  
"This isn't porn, Harvey. This is my life."  
  
Harvey exhales a sigh, long and tired. Then he looks Jim directly in the eye and says "OK. Well... Show me."  
  
Jim’s eyebrows shoot upwards. He blinks. "Excuse me?"  
  
"It can't be that bad that you can't ever show anyone again.” The tone of his voice makes it sound like this is the most normal request in the world. That this is just sensible, both of them sat here on Harvey’s couch, the sulky evening sunlight leaking in through the blinds. “Practice on me."  
  
"You're asking to see my _junk_?" Jim clarifies, slowly. Even as he says it, he can’t quite believe he just uttered those words.  
  
Harvey nods. "Well, _yeah_ I am, after you've bigged it up so much. Wait.” He gives an apologetic grimace. “Poor choice of words there, sorry man."

 

This is… Jim swallows, every nerve suddenly jangling. It’s too unexpected to really sink in, he thinks. It’s the last thing he expected Harvey to ask, when he finally confided in him just why he’s been so remote and squirrely - even more so than usual - since Gotham reconnected with the mainland and everything supposedly went back to normal. Harvey looks at him, expectantly, and Jim realises how he’s subconsciously folded his hands in his lap, fingers twisting around and around each other, shielding the source of his diffidence. “Well, go on then.” Harvey prompts, like this is the most natural thing imaginable. Nods, encouragingly.

 

“This is… I can’t, Harv.”

 

“Well, if you can’t whip it out in front of _me_ , then I guess you’re right – your future love life’s doomed.”

 

He says it gently, jokingly, but the words still run Jim through. Because he’s right, isn’t he? Why the hell can’t he show Harvey? It’s not like he’s attracted to Harvey, right? Not like he’s found his alone-time imagination straying to thoughts of a familiar hand at the nape of his neck, the fall of red-brown hair against a leather coat collar, that strong, deadly right-hook… He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath in through his nose, feeling the betraying twitch between his thighs. _Fear doesn’t need conquering. Fear shows you where the edge is._ And right now, he feels about to tip right over. His hands flutter, toy with the button of his fly. “If you laugh, I _will_ shoot you.”

 

“Hey man, only fair.” Harvey murmurs. He sounds… _distracted_. Jim can’t bear to look at him, to see where he’s looking, what his expression is saying. Instead, he fixes his gaze on the dusty rays of light filtering through the slats of the blinds. Pretends that he’s not unzipping his fly, shuffling his pants a little down over his hips to make room. Reaching into his shorts and scooping up the hot, heavy heft that’s now a part of him.

He looks away when he gets it out. Embarrassed. Mortified. He doesn’t need to see it – it’s not a part of him anymore, a shock every time he catches sight, even more jarring than the grey hairs he seems to have acquired alongside his other sudden changes, silver threading through mousey blond as he studies his reflection in the bathroom mirror each morning. That’s stress, isn’t it? At least if he wanted to he could colour his hair. If only his other not-so-little problem had a solution as easy as a bit of dye…

 

“Harvey..?” His voice comes out small. Anxious. And he really wants to cover himself, this exposure, but there’s a big part of his mind still in denial, and if he doesn’t look, then perhaps it’s not so bad…

 

“Yes.” Harvey sounds suddenly business-like. It’s… _weird_. He risks a glance at him, accidentally meets his eye, their gaze locking. At least Harvey _is_ looking him in the eye. Harvey’s mouth opens, shuts. He points, vaguely, that familiar gesture, like he’s about to say something, but then reconsiders.

 

Jim’s heart sinks. “I knew this was a mistake.”

 

“No! No, c’mon, it’s not a mistake. You can trust me.”

 

“Isn’t this the part where you’re supposed to tell me it’s not that bad?” He fumbles with his clothes, suddenly desperate to cover up. His belly flips again when he feels a hand, gentle but firm, on his arm, staying his action.

 

“ _Bad_ is not a word I’d use. _Impressive_ , maybe. Imposing. Formidable?”

 

“Harvey, you’re not helping.”

 

“Well, I mean, whaddaya want me to say?” This amount of eye contact is starting to become dizzying. The obvious, hair-raising fact of looking _anywhere but there_. He always thought Harvey had blue eyes, but this close, this intense, Jim can see they’re a bluey-green. Unusual. _Beautiful_. Pupils dilated… Jim swallows. Remembers to blink. Is all too aware of the insistent pulse between his legs, the feeling of swelling excitement.  
  
Harvey’s voice is little more than a whisper. His hand still closed around Jim’s wrist. "We should probably measure it. I mean, _you_ , _you_ should. For science."  
  
"For science?" Jim repeats, shakily. It feels unreal. Sitting here, in his suit and tie, with his dick out, watching Harvey as he hurries to rummage through a drawer, comes back with a tailor’s tape measure.   
  
He feels another twinge – _of what, Gordon? Excitement? Lust?_ – as Harvey glances down at him, then drags his eyes back up and licks his lips. He’s just nervous. What else could it be? He offers Jim the tape measure. And Jim shakes his head, as if he’s in a trance. “I can’t. I don’t want to touch it.” His dick gives another insistent throb that must be visible to anyone looking. “You do it.”

 

That gets him a nervous laugh. “How the hell you been managing to pee, Junior?” Jim bites his lip. Trusts it’s a rhetorical question, because the answer – he just kind of tips it out, leans and aims, with as little direct contact as possible – is not something he wants to voice right now. Then he’s grunting in unexpected pain, as the shock of Harvey touching him makes him dig his teeth into his own lower lip a little more sharply than he intended. “Hey, easy. Are my hands cold?”

 

“No, they’re… no.” They’re warm. _Nice_. God, it’s been so long since he’s been touched there. Even if it’s accompanied by the impersonal papery slither of a tape measure. Each glancing stroke of Harvey’s fingertips sends a hot, liquid thrill through him, sinking into his muscles, tensing him with building arousal.   
  
Harvey clears his throat again. "This is kinda tricky. You're getting a little, ah, _perky_ here, buddy."  
  
He feels his cheeks start to burn. The fact that it’s not solely with embarrassment just makes it worse. "I can't help it. It's got a mind of its own."  
  
"OK, it's natural. It's just a natural reaction. Nothing to be ashamed of. But this is a part of you. You gotta get used to that."  
  
Jim presses his lips together, brows knitting. "I'm trying."  
  
"I know. I - _wow_. Does this thing get any bigger?"  
  
He can’t help it: he glances down into his lap, then rolls his eyes and grits out. "Yes." And this onslaught of feeling is far, far too confusing. This is humiliating. Perverted. Unprofessional. Unproductive. _So fucking hot_. His secret shame, on display, popping a boner right before the eyes of the colleague he’s denied himself a years-long, guilty desire for…  
  
"Maybe we should - _you_ should- ah… _encourage it to its full potential_ , before we – _you_ \- measure it. I mean…” Harvey’s voice has gone kind of gravelly, the words quick and breathless. “For science."  
  
"For science." Jim echoes again, faintly. His dick jerks, more than half hard now. And Harvey's touching him. Harvey is touching his dick. Not jerking him off, not exactly, but – _fondling_ him. Light, teasing touches that are making him ache, that are sending all of the blood rushing south from his brain, leaving him lightheaded and dry-mouthed and reeling. And it should be weird and it _is_ weird, but he can't remember the last time he was this turned on. And those urges are bubbling up again. This desire, to take him in his arms and kiss him, to bend him over the couch and...

 

“OK, _tell me_ that’s it?”

 

Jim glances down again on reflex, then instantly regrets it, squeezing his eyes shut and turning his head away in fruitless denial. He grits his teeth. “Yeah. That’s it.”  
  
"See.” Harvey breathes out. His fingers have left Jim’s dick, but they’re lingering, just touching his arm. “It ain't so bad, compared."  
  
"Compared to what?” Jim says, miserably. “A racehorse?" When he turns to look at him, Harvey’s eyes are wide, his lips parted, a light flush across the top of his cheekbones, and it’s almost too much.  
  
Harvey shakes his head. "To any guy.  I mean yeah, you're big.” He swallows: Jim catalogues, dreamily, the nervous bob of his throat. “Really, really big..."  
  
"Let's compare then."

 

“What?” Harvey’s mouth drops open a little wider and he looks so flustered that Jim almost forgets what’s transpiring, caught between the desire to clap his hand over his own mouth, to stop any more stupid, self-sabotaging words from tumbling out, and crushing his mouth to Harvey’s.

 

“Nothing. Forget I said-”

 

“What _did_ you say?” Harvey interrupts him. “Because I swear for a moment I thought you-”

 

“I-” _Asked to compare dick size. Told you to get your cock out, to show it to me._

Jim draws in a shuddering breath, thoughts spinning out of control. His hard-on has not abated _one little bit_ , and he is not imagining the look on Harvey’s face as he leans forward a little, eyes sleepy and full of unmistakable _want_ as he asks, “You _what_?”

 

He’s goading him. And Jim knows he's being played. Knows he's not the one in control, not really. That's he's the weak one, wanting to just give in, give up to his baser urges. This struggle has been going on longer than any changes Strange made. This fight between intellect and instinct. He just wants to give in. And is that so bad, really? Hasn't Harvey always been his, right from the start? Now here he is, agreeing- practically begging, rolling over and presenting his white throat for Jim's teeth. Why shouldn't Jim give him what he’s asking for? Claim, truly, and unequivocally, take what's always been his. “What do you want, Jim?” Harvey says, quietly, and Jim feels his resolve _snap_.

 

“I want you to touch me again.” Fuck, he sounds ruined. And Harvey isn’t pausing for thought, is reaching for him instantly, but Jim stays his hands, holding him easily with this unholy strength he’s been cursed with. “But this _thing_ …”

  
"Jim…” Harvey frowns at him, desperate, his arms immobile in Jim’s grip. “It's gonna take more than that to put me off. Saints help me, I love it. You're sexy as hell, don't you realise that?"

 

“Sexy? This isn’t _me_ …”  
  
"I'm not some kinda fetishist.” That, a little affronted in tone. Those blue-green eyes are pleading. “Jim, I've wanted you for so long... I'd want you if you had twelve inches or two, damnit."  
  
"I was..." _Small. Not two inches small, but nowhere near **this**._ "Before." He can't force the words out, but he knows Harvey understands anyway, that instinct he's always had. "And now... I can feel it, all the time. It's..." _Distracting. Consuming. Humiliating, this constant hunger, reducing him to a rutting animal._ "Obscene." _Dangerous. Powerful. Wonderful...  
_  
"It's OK. It's OK, kid. I got you."  
  
"Don't call me that." Jim snaps, on reflex. His dick is still insistently, obtrusively hard. It would be ridiculous if it wasn’t so mortifying. If he wasn’t so _riled_.  
  
Harvey opens his palms, although Jim still has his arms pinned. "Whoah. OK. OK, chill, man. It's me, it's just me." He looks uneasy, a little, but mostly he just looks mesmerised.

  
Jim licks his lips. "I'm sorry. I just..." _I like it. Isn't that the worst part, Gordon? The most shameful part? You like it._ "Harvey, I can't help myself. It feels like it's controlling me."  
  
"Wow. You mean it didn't before? Cos buddy, news flash, it controls us all. It's what you do with it that counts."  
  
His heart feels like it’s speeding ten times its normal rate. For all he knows, after whatever Strange did to him, it might be. "And what should I do with it, in your educated opinion?"  
  
Harvey’s voice slows to a drawl, dragging fluttery heat up Jim’s spine. "Well, here I am, all but declaring open season on my fine ass, but I guess I shoulda known that you're too much of a _good boy_ to stoop to that. No matter what hardware you're packing, boyscout, you just ain't got it in-"  
  
Jim cuts him off. Lunges, desperate and uncoordinated, crashing their mouths together with more aggression than lust. He knows that Harvey is goading him, intentionally, but he doesn't care. He just _wants_. And if Harvey is so damn willing, then why fight it any longer? 

Harvey, for one, is certainly not fighting. Jim swallows his moans, licks them from his unresisting mouth, hot and wet and eager. When his hand drifts straight to Jim’s dick, it would be so easy to let him, it would feel so good – Harvey can only just wrap a hand around him, his fingertips barely touching. Jim feels him moan into their kiss again, so far gone already, and it’s only because it’s so delicious to see him thwarted that he pulls Harvey’s hand away again, to hear him keen in frustration, worked up and panting as Jim breaks their kiss to look at him.

And _this_ feels good. This taking control. By the looks of things, Harvey isn’t averse to the development, either.

“You need to get undressed.” He takes in Harvey’s sharp intake of breath, his quick nod. It’s almost cute how eager he is, except that it’s just really, really hot.  
  
"Gimme a sec. Stay right there, don't you move a muscle." Harvey pins him with a direct gaze, a gesture of his hand that's so peculiarly him, pointer and pinky fingers extended, that Jim's throat feels tight.  
Then, he’s up and Jim hears him shuffling around the room next door. It must be a minute tops before he's back.   
And Harvey's naked now. Jim tips back his head and tries to remember to breathe. All the times he’s tried to be professional, to be respectful, to not sneak too many covert glances in the locker room. He’d chanced enough peeks to build up enough of a picture to fuel his denial-blind fantasies, but now… Since when stocky redheads with a skin-tone you need sunglasses to look at started to do it for him, he can’t say. He’s barely even noticed any guys since the army. Until Harvey. Harvey, standing there, looking enviably unselfconscious, hard already, his dick stood so straight up that it’s resting against the curve of his belly.

 

He's big. Big enough that Jim would've felt a little intimidated, before. Inadequate, even. But now... One of Harvey’s hands is loosely stroking himself, the other holding out a little bottle of lube. He shakes it, playfully. "Make sure you get good ‘n’ wet, stud." 

  
Jim swallows the tightness in his throat. It's weird that the most jarring thing about this picture is the fact that Harvey's not wearing his hat. He looks shorter without it, smaller. His hair is a glossy spill to his shoulders and Jim wants to bury his hands in it. To _pull_. "Come here."

  
"Yessir."

  
He stands, up on tiptoe, crushes their mouths together hard and dirty, feels the vibration of Harvey's groan against his teeth. Swallows it all up, wet, tongues lashing. When they part, Harvey is panting, glassy eyed. Jim palms his dick, feels it wet at the tip already, Harvey pushing wantonly into his grip, hips grinding. It's so easy to spin him around, effortless, and Harvey hitches in a breath at the manhandling, his back arching against Jim's chest as Jim pulls him flush by his hips, his freakish hard-on sliding between the crease of Harvey's asscheeks. "You want this?"

  
The groan he receives in reply, the way Harvey presses back against him, makes Jim's dick throb, a fever rise in his skin. "Oh baby, I do. You have no idea."

  
It's crazy, how Harvey is naked and he's fully clothed, yet he can still feel so totally exposed. He uses one finger, delicately sweeps the silky curtain of Harvey's hair to one side, exposing the curve of his neck. Plants a kiss there, revels in his sigh. Uses teeth, gently, mouthing the stretch of shuddering muscle between neck and shoulder and Harvey moans, "Jim..." And presses back against the thick length of his dick and it strikes Jim like an avalanche that nobody's ever said his name with that depth of desire before. Carefully, he bites harder, leaving the slightest pink impression of teethmarks on pale skin. This close, he can see the faint dusting of freckles across Harvey's broad shoulders: the heat simmering just under his surface turns up a notch. He's starting to feel frantic. Losing control. The next bite is harder and Harvey's voice cracks around the words, "Jim, yes..." Rubbing his ass back against him like - like an animal in heat, or something. Jim tries to breathe. Drops his head to rest his forehead against the nape of Harvey's neck. Realises he's sweating. 

 

"I don't want to hurt you."  
  
"Bold of you to assume I ain't taken something this size before."  
  
Oh, _Jesus_. He can’t keep his voice steady. "There's no way you've slept with anyone this big."  
  
"I said some _thing_ not some _one_." Harvey says, breathlessly, and it’s Jim’s turn to groan, his hips moving like he’s possessed: his body just wants to _get off_ , and god but Harvey feels so good, looks so good, _smells_ so damn good…

 

“Tell me.” His voice doesn’t sound like his own: rough and commanding, and Harvey swears under his breath and turns around in his arms, slicking their mouths together again as he pushes the jacket clumsily from Jim’s shoulders, tugs at his tie.

 

“I like to experiment. I got especial tastes. And a guy can get lonely…”

 

“You’re never short of company.” Jim helps him with the shirt, loses a few buttons in his haste, exchanging breathless kisses between his frantic shedding of layers.

 

“I am since I developed the taste for a certain detective.”

 

“Harvey…” His hair is every bit as soft as Jim’s always imagined, like satin as he pushes his fingers into it, Harvey’s hands all over him now, skimming his ribs, his back, pushing his trousers and underwear down as Harvey mouths frantically along the line of Jim’s jaw.

 

"Fuck, take me. Break me in. I don't wanna sit down for a month."

 

“Oh god… I haven’t done this, since…”

 

“It’s OK. Lie back.” Harvey guides him to the couch, pushes him down, and Jim goes easily, lying on his side, back against the seat back.

 

“Don’t I need to… get you ready?” The thought of it, of spreading his thighs and touching him there, has Jim’s hard-on jerking like a damn flag pole in high wind, but Harvey shakes his head, teeth pressing into his plush bottom lip.

 

“Don’t wanna wait. Just get yourself wet.” Jim flips the cap on the bottle Harvey hands him. It’s probably not the right time to ask if they should put down towels or something. And then Harvey is kneeling on the carpet in front of him, kissing him again, and Jim moans at the sensation of slippery warmth dripping down his shaft, of Harvey’s fist pumping him, spreading it thick.

Almost as soon as Harvey’s settled - lying flush in front of Jim, back to Jim’s chest and only just room for both of them on the couch – he’s twisting around for more kisses. He raises one knee, reaches back to press the thick tip of Jim’s cock against his entrance, and Jim squeezes his eyes shut and rides the waves of arousal threatening to wash him away.

 

“I don’t think it’s going to fit.”

 

“Oh, it’ll fit alright.” Harvey drawls. His hips shift, bearing back, rocking in little shallow nudges that press the head of Jim’s cock relentlessly against the tight, slick pucker of his asshole.

 

“I think we should have prepared more.” Jim’s voice comes out as a whisper. He drops a kiss on one freckled shoulder.

 

Harvey’s hair tickles his face as he tosses his head back. His breath is coming faster now, lips parted and full. His arm moves steadily as he jerks himself off. “No. I wanna feel you open me up.”

 

Swallowing hard, Jim presses his forehead against Harvey’s shoulder. He’s sweating, or they both are. Each determined nudge back onto Jim’s cock meets less and less resistance, feels easier, until Harvey groans, deep and low, and presses back hard, circling his hips. And there’s a push and pressure, and a moan of relief as the hot grasp of Harvey's body surrenders all at once to Jim's claim.

 

“Oh, fuck,” Jim gasps, clamping a hand to Harvey’s waist, as he fights the desire to just _start thrusting_.

 

“Oh, fuck,” Harvey agrees, feverish, hand over Jim’s winding their fingers tight together, as he carries on rocking, steadily, back onto the solid girth of Jim’s dick. Each push takes him deeper and Jim is starting to feel faint, every higher function steamrollered by this one, base goal.

He feels like heaven. Sweet and yielding, all hot and wet inside. “Jim… fuck me, _please_ , just do me.” And Jim ghosts a fingertip around where they’re joined, feels how tight and full, how he’s in to the hilt now somehow, and it feels like he’s losing his mind to this sensation as he pulls slowly back, thrusts smoothly in again, the stretch and glide exquisite.

It drags a truly beautiful noise from Harvey, an arm flung back, fingers tight on Jim’s hip, as he pulls him close, urges him to start up a rhythm, steady and firm, building faster.

And there’s a blotchy flush creeping down Harvey’s neck, across the smooth, pale skin of his chest. His bent thigh trembles, his whole body shaking with the effort of pleasure. “ _Yes_ , oh god, Jim, _please_ , don’t stop.” He’s panting, ragged and desperate, the hand at Jim’s hip pulling mindlessly, encouraging him to _slam_ , wet obscene little noises as he’s starting to loosen around Jim’s big dick, all slick and easy, Jim’s hips slapping against the plump curve of his ass and, “ _Please_ , oh fuck, I’m nearly there, don’t stop…” He sounds so utterly ruined that it has Jim on the edge in seconds too, rutting deliriously, so caught up in this bliss nothing could stop him, like running downhill too fast: there’s only one possible outcome. “ _Jim_.” Harvey all but sobs his name, as Jim reaches around and wraps a hand around Harvey’s dick.

 

“I’ve got you.” Dirty talk was never really his thing, always took him out of the moment, but now Harvey’s string of breathless moans and cusses are turning him on more than he could ever have anticipated, are threatening to bring some of the things on the tip of his tongue spilling out. “Are you going to come for me?”

 

Harvey groans, driving forwards into Jim’s fist, back onto the fat length of his cock. He feels so hot in Jim’s hand, hot and hard and Jim presses his face into the crook of Harvey’s neck, inhales the scent of sex and sweat, the clean fragrance of his shampoo, and thrusts more urgently.

“Oh god, baby, yes, nail me!” Jim’s heart feels ready to pop, every feeling condensed down to this moment, this escalating release. The building could be burning around them and he wouldn’t even notice, as Harvey moans, “Jim, _yes_ ,” and he feels the hot, slick spill across his fingers, the sweet pulse around his cock, and he’s gone, clinging and groaning and whispering praise into Harvey’s sweat-damp hair as surge after surge of it shakes him with completion.  


Harvey’s hand finds his hip again. Strokes, gently, at his perspiration-tacky skin. He can’t quite bring himself to move, to lift his head from the obscuring refuge of long hair and face what they just did. His heart rate’s calming now, unnaturally quickly. And he thinks perhaps he should be ashamed of himself, his _conduct_ , except – god, that was _so good_.  
  
Harvey sounds like he’s just run a marathon. "Jeepers, get a napkin, this is gonna go everywhere."  
Jim grimaces, caught between awkward and grimly amused. Casts around for anything within arm’s reach, then gathers Harvey into his arms and leans over the side of the couch and comes up with his own discarded undershirt, which can be washed at least.

  
Harvey winces as Jim pulls out. Takes the shirt gratefully and presses it unglamorously against his asscheeks. And Jim tries to ignore the fresh twitch of desire that the sight of him, so loose and wet and pink, provokes in his stupid freak dick. "Holy crap. That was the deepest dicking of my _life_. I think you broke my asshole."

  
"You did ask me to. Repeatedly." Jim says, the emotions warring inside him: awkwardness, with a distinct edge of something very close to pride.

  
Harvey flashes him a downright delighted grin. "Too right I did. Hot _damn_ , that was good - I ain't been serviced like that since high school."

  
"Harvey!" It’s hard to be scandalised given when they’ve just done, but it pops out on reflex. The smile it gets in return, Jim thinks, is nothing short of gorgeous.

  
"Well, _there_ he is! Welcome back, Boy Scout."

 

“Really? You’re going to stick with that, after the _dicking_ I just gave you?”

 

“Oh, _baby_!” Harvey’s expression of mock-shock is endearing – and there’s another thought, accosting Jim unawares. “I think I like Bad Jim. You do realise though, if you broke it, you bought it? I’m not joking, you’ve spoilt me for anyone else now. Nobody else’s ever gonna measure up. You’re just gonna have to keep me.”

 

Jim closes his eyes. _Part_ of him is responding to the notion that he’s _broken him in_ with relish. Part of him is dismayed. “I thought that you didn’t care about size.”

 

“I ain’t talking about size,” Harvey says, quietly, and draws him in for another long, slow kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> In case you’re wondering: “Just under ten inches. And – sweet mother have mercy – seven around.”
> 
> Thank you for reading this utter, plotless filth - you are all awesome, especially the commenters, and I hope you enjoyed x


End file.
